


Earth-14: Bad Hand Vol. 1

by UncleHollyFanficBasement, Wribo



Series: E-14 [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 15:04:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13592613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UncleHollyFanficBasement/pseuds/UncleHollyFanficBasement, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wribo/pseuds/Wribo
Summary: There's a new evil brewing on the west coast, and it starts in the American Venice: Las Vegas.





	Earth-14: Bad Hand Vol. 1

Blackjack remains a popular game in Las Vegas. Such a simple game of getting close without going over appeals to everyone with an itch to win some extra scratch. Languages and handsigns are different most of the time, but the dealer's been doing this too long. The only signal that his brain is on is the sidelong flash of a glance that screams annoyance, and the speed and precision in which he shuffles. The glances come when the Texan bursts into raucous laughter, or when the Japanese salaryman agonizes over his cards rubs a hole in his temple, flipping the internal coin to stay or hit.

All sorts fill all tables in Vegas, even this dingy, ashen-laced one at a hotel that no one really knows the name of. They just know its 67 a night and relatively clean.

He shuffles again. The baggy eyed dealer migrates stacks of seven cards to the top, and its seven every time. The man he hasn't given his disgust to notices.

'You doin' dat fa good luck?' Distinctly cajun; the dealer saw the type many times during spring breaks. The man has a shaggy bit of chocolate hair and some very expensive aviators. The man's jaw can barely contain that spry smile; his own holdings had been quite enviable for some time.

Texan smashes a cigar underboot as his last chips are scraped across the table to the house.

The dealer tries his best to angle his eyes upward and over, almost staring directly through his thin reddish eyebrows.

'Kinda, sir.'

Patrons come, and go, and through the evening the house and the Cajun are in lavish winnings. Though, as the players stop refreshing, the two of them are the only ones left besides for the elderly crowd mindlessly falling onto the "bet" buttons of slot machines.

'Do you care to go again, sir?' A voice like a sad recording.

'Why not, da house still has alot o' monay!'

The bets were high and and the excitement was higher. Unfortunately, it only took 3 hands, 3 almost perfect hands, to bring both winnings and joy down to zero.

'Ya dinnit do dat special shufflin'!'

'I shuffled the same as before, sir.' Another sad recording. Impossible to find the lie so boldly scripted.

'W-well, i..yous right, I dinnit see no trick'ry. Yo luck mighty fine, son'

Only the hint of a nod came as response.

"I plan ta be in town a while, I'ma come back get all dat monay. You can call me JP, Jean-Pierre, wadeva ya want ta.'

'Of course, sir'

A shuffle of awkward silence before the Cajun nodded and glanced at the nameplate on that threadbare vest his dealer wore. 

'It twas a pleasa, Remy!'


End file.
